Djose Knights: Yuri Drabbles & OneShots
by AuronLu
Summary: Drabbles and ficlets about Lucil, captain of the Djose Chocobo Knights, and Elma, her right hand. They fascinate me as an 'odd couple' - no-nonsense Lucil and her gung-ho second - as strong women, and as the most likely candidates for yuri in any FF game.
1. Tilting at the Tide

Waves crashed. Armor gleamed dully. Rank on rank of warriors stared down the sea. Black tendrils were creeping into the bay, spreading and darkening in the gray water.

Lucil shared a small, private smile with the crimson-clad warrior at her right. That was all the disciplined captain permitted when they were on duty.

"Right beside you, ma'am," the younger woman said, eyes shining in a way that said more. A slight breach of protocol. Under the circumstances, Lucil would condone it, even if she could not afford to let her thoughts dwell on the reasons for it - not now.

The commander of the Djose Chocobo Knights glanced up towards the point where the command center had been erected. She frowned. The blue crest of Maester Seymour was clearly visible, nodding like a second signal flag, and a bright gleam of white and indigo beside him must be Lady Yuna. It troubled Lucil for them to be here. It was not safe. Yet she was touched to know that Lord Braska's daughter would dance for her troops, when this bloody day was finished. Better that sad duty than the one the Lady had set out upon.

Sinrise. A mile of ocean lifted up groaning, and the bloated behemoth rose from the depths. Hideous writhing forms dripped from its carapace into the water. The air around its mottled snout shimmered like the membrane of a blitzball sphere. That was why the Al Bhed were here. As for her knights -

She had volunteered to lead the charge. Someone must, and her troops were the finest Crusaders in the world. They were brave and disciplined, proud to be offering up their lives to end Sin's menace once for all. Elma's adoration for her was unshaken, although both knew that Lucil's next order would probably be the last given and obeyed.

The surface of the ocean was boiling towards them. A leathery jointed spine whipped out of a wave-crest just beyond the breakers. Dark shapes were propelling themselves towards the shore, outriders of Sin's wrath, pawns sent to clear a path and snarl their defenses.

The flag dropped. The Crusaders' cannons went off, thundering blasts echoing from cliff to cliff.

Captain Lucil, commander of the Djose Knights, raised her sword one last time and bellowed for the vanguard to charge.

The clawed feet of their avian mounts drummed the sand. Spray flew beneath the birds' pumping legs as they hit the sheet of water rushing up to meet them. Lucil's sturdy chocobo outraced the rest, hurtling into the deeper waters with no more fear than its rider. In a moment, they were in among the sinspawn, and had no more need to run.

Lucil had a brief glimpse of her knights around and behind her, twisting in their saddles and turning spears or swords on submerged foes. Sinspawn were exploding out of the water all around them. Cries and shouts went up, scales and fins and claws were sheared off, black ichor and slime and pyreflies flew, and some of the chocobos were faltering, their riders pulled under. Lucil lunged and snapped a sword-stroke out and down, instincts faster than thought sending her blade's point into a ghastly eye and the brain within. Her chocobo jabbed its beak downward, tearing at the passing tail of another.

Huge pincers wrapped around her left calf, pulling her down. She heard Elma's shout the instant before the churning water closed over her head. Then she was struggling, jabbing, slashing, trying to take this last foe with her. She was choking; she had not managed to take a breath before being dragged under-

The creature was worrying her leg, but just before she blacked out it went limp, although her sword was merely thudding off its bony shell-

Firm hands were grasping her collar, pulling her upward-

The sea shuddered like an enormous mass of muscle, a clenching fist. The ocean boomed against her skin, her eardrums, her lungs-

Nothing.

* * *

She came back to pain, choking and gasping and retching. Firm hands pumping her chest were pushing out seawater. Her shoulder felt dislocated; her mauled leg was stinging furiously. An angry red smear above her resolved itself into Elma, haggard but alive.

Lucil raised a mailed hand and gripped her wrist.

"Captain!" Elma gasped. Their hands locked. For a moment Lucil feared the younger woman would embrace her - she knew that fervent look, felt it wash over her like the exact opposite of Sin's deadly shockwave - but her lieutenant restrained herself and merely helped her to her feet.

"Our troops?"

Elma had learned from her not to mince words. "Gone, ma'am. Except Clasko."

Lucil stiffened: not unexpected, but still appalling. The end of the Chocobo Knights. Clasko seemed an improbable survivor, but the more important question was: "Sin?"

Elma shook her head. "Unknown, ma'am. I was underwater and didn't see what happened." She pointed towards the headland, where the Al Bhed installation had been a short time before.

Lucil nodded grimly. "Signs are not good."

Elma's shoulder was bleeding, she noticed abstractly. If there were any healers still alive, it would need tending.

"Captain Lucil!" They swung around. Pale and ashen, Clasko was stumbling towards them looking bewildered, lost, and _dry_.

Elma's eyes bored into him accusingly.

"I'm so glad to see you're all right, Captain!" he said.

"Report," Lucil said.

He drew himself to attention and saluted. "S-Sin came out of the water, and there was this huge sphere of white light, and- and then I don't know. I was thrown up the beach. When I came to, the bay was empty. I haven't found any survivors yet. Oh, except my ch-chocobo!"

"Your chocobo?"

"Yeah, she-" he blushed and hung his head. "I couldn't hold her, ma'am. I'm sorry. She turned and bolted when the battle started."

Elma was fuming beside her, but Lucil merely nodded. Of course, she knew full well that Clasko was good at one thing only: handling chocobos. He of all of them should have been able to master a panicking bird. The shame in his eyes was answer enough, for now.

The captain turned, surveying the few mangled and scattered bodies tossed around on the sand nearby. She raised her eyes to the cliff-tops. High above, a slender white figure was dancing, spinning, weaving. Pyreflies were beginning to rise from the bodies on the shore, and from the waves as well. Lord Braksa's daughter was sending them home, as she had promised.

Captain Lucil raised her fist to her heart and began to recite. "Ardof. Gan. Noren. Efka. Leyli..."

Elma and Clasko joined in the litany of their comrades' names, Elma hoarsely, Clasko with stunned tears. While they chanted, they watched the bedraggled, lonely chocobo wandering aimlessly over the bloody sand, pecking nervously at flotsam.

"All for nothing," Clasko whispered when the ritual was over, awed and dazed. "All in vain."

"For Spira," Lucil corrected sternly. "For hope. They died as Crusaders should die, defending Spira from Sin."

"Yes, ma'am." Clasko sounded miserable.

Elma stirred beside her, moving like a sleepwalker. "Orders, Captain?"

"We search for survivors." Lucil smiled at her sadly. "We begin anew. Come."


	2. AWOL

_A/N: I keep writing Lucil/Elma, but it's just drabbles, not long enough to post as separate fics. So I've decided to add them as extra chapters to my old "Tilting at the Tide" one-shot written 3 years ago.  
_

_This drabble was for the prompt "anger" on LJ's ff_yuri_drabble community.  
_

* * *

"I did not authorize you to follow me!"

The blow had not landed. Elma gripped Lucil's wrist in both hands.

Had it only been three days since the lieutenant fished her captain from the bloody waters of Djose?

"What, you expect me to stay here and breed chocobos?" Elma said. "If you're deserting, so am I."

Lucil gave an efficient twist, sending her subordinate to the ground. The captain set a boot on her breastbone. "Bevelle is in disarray. Wait for new orders. You can't throw your career away, Elma."

"And you can? If those goons from Bevelle catch you, they'll execute you. You'll need someone to watch your back."

"This is mutiny," Lucil snapped, in flat contradiction of the shining devotion in the younger woman's face. No scars. No weathering from years of riding. No dimming of brash innocence. They were still to come, assuming Elma was not killed in the madness that had overtaken Yevon, bent on stamping out every young, good, brave heart in Spira.

The order to kill Lady Yuna had come ten minutes ago.

"Yes, ma'am. Against Yevon. But I'm still following you."

It occurred to Lucil that if Yevon was false, then certain other rules - rules she had observed meticulouly - might also be discarded.

She placed her heel by Elma's ear. "You'll have to walk," she said. It was an insult to one of Djose's elite, the Chocobo Knights.

"Yes, ma'am. Destination?"

Lucil offered her hand, raising Elma to her feet. "Besaid. We stand with those who would shelter Lady Yuna."

"Very good, Captain." Her eyes twinkled. "I can swim."

"Lucil," she corrected. "No rank now. From this time forward, we are not Crusaders." She traced a gloved fingertip against the woman's cheek. "Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am." Eyes glistening, she gave a smart salute. "After you."


	3. Fresh Face

_This drabble was for the prompt "red" on LJ's ff_yuri_drabble community. Set pre-game._

* * *

It wasn't against Crusader regulations.

Her garb was more practical than those bare-assed blitz uniforms some Kilikans enlisted in. That was fine for infantry: any knight knew that speed and agility were another kind of armor. But they'd be chapped and whimpering after a day in the saddle.

The girl wore bright red that a dual-horn could spot a league off, plus a starry-eyed "Pick me, Captain!" grin that Lucil would be sorry to dampen. Blue beads on her headband meant she came from a noble family, although she didn't boast of it. The kilt was unusual, but the girl brought chaps and a good riding seat. She handled the obstacle courses well and without complaint.

Lucil found herself masking a smile whenever the cadet came by, winded but eager long after the other recruits were grumbling that they'd signed up to _fight fiends_, not coddle chocobos.

"Next, ma'am?"

"The same, but ride backwards. A needed skill in retreat."

"Retreat, ma'am?" It was the first plaintive note in the cadet's voice all day.

"Yes, Elma. When Sin comes, our job becomes survival. Else there would be none to kill the spawn it leaves."

"Right, Captain!" Another breathless salute.

The other cadets tittered when Elma reversed her seat. The mocking began in earnest after the first blitzball sent her flying face down in the turf. But she only laughed, hopped up, whistled the chocobo back, remounted and charged off again, gaining a few paces before her next tumble.

Red. Lucil would have to speak to her about its effect on dual-horns later. But for now, it helped her spot the girl on the field and mark her progress.

The trials for Djose were rigorous, but Lucil was looking forward to one new addition to the Djose Chocobo Knights.


	4. Change of Habit

_A/N: Prompt: "Clothing." Set in my "Love Her and Despair" AU, in which the institutions of Yevon survived into Yuna's Calm.  
_

* * *

Lucil stood stiffly in the center of her tent, arms spread like a quintain. Voluminous yellow robes drooped around the rider's toned frame like a badly-cured ochu skin. Her figure was obscured by a stiff panel of white fabric embroidered in Yevon's signs, dangling to mid-calf where the robes stopped ten inches above the ground. A pair of acolytes with pins in their mouths were crouched at her knees, whispering. Apparently they had been expecting someone shorter and of greater girth, like the man Lucil was about to replace.

Elma dropped the tent flap and covered her mouth with a hand, eyes crinkling. "Wow. Look at you, Commander! Or, should I say, Maester!"

One girl looked up with a nervous smile. Elma winked back reassuringly.

"Not yet," Lucil reminded her. "The investiture is in three days." She always carried herself with cool formality, but there was a set to her jaw that warned Elma something was off.

"Yes, ma'am." Elma moved to the commander's desk in the corner, setting down a tablet she was carrying. "I've got Clasko's report, whenever you're ready."

"Now is good, Captain."

And then it was nothing but chocobos for a while: ages and growth, feed mixtures, training evaluations, rehabilitation reports for the injured. Finally, the tailors helped Lucil out of the half-finished garments and scurried away. Elma set the tablet down, retrieved the commander's greaves lying across the desk, and moved to kneel before her, reclaiming the patch of rug the nuns had just vacated.

Lucil set a hand on her shoulder, steadying herself as Elma swiftly arrayed her in her old armor. The commander smiled a little as her aide's fingers strayed up thighs hardened by years of riding. When Elma fitted the breastplate back into place, Lucil inclined her head for a rare, fleeting on-duty kiss.

"Second thoughts, ma'am?"

"None." Lucil straightened. "I am glad to serve Spira. And the Crusaders should have an ally among the maesters."

"But...?"

"You saw." Lucil shook her head. "No more armor. And I'll never ride in _that._"

"You'll be a maester," Elma pointed out. "Change the uniform!"

"Perhaps," Lucil stroked the woman's cheek with a fingertip. "But I'll need you to be my eyes and ears, keep me grounded in the field while I'm in Bevelle."

"Of course." She leaned close, ostensibly to adjust Lucil's pauldrons. "Don't worry, ma'am," she whispered. "You'll still wear the pants."


	5. Reassignment

_ff_yuri_drabble prompt: "New" (500 words exactly)_

* * *

In truth, it had started long before Kilika: Elma, junior officer, fiercely infatuated; Lucil, consummate captain, holding the reins of propriety with fond reserve. Lucil had seldom found such crushes endearing, but the starry-eyed girl who obeyed orders with flushed enthusiasm added welcome joy to the rigors of campaign.

Yet even stars may dim.

First had come Operation Mi'ihen, unofficially sanctioned by Lord Seymour. Elma's plunge into the sea after her captain had saved them both: Sin's shock-wave passed overhead to scatter their comrades as black ash on Djose's bloody sands.

In the days after, Elma's unflagging spirit had helped Lucil maintain her own professionalism. They never chafed at the menial tasks assigned them as penitence for surviving a proscribed operation.

The Guado took over defense of Lord Mi'ihen's Highroad. _They_ would protect citizens now, not fallen Crusaders. If the no-longer Mounted Forces wished to be useful, they might serve as docents to Lady Yuna on the way to her wedding. She had her own guardians and knew the way, but the future wife of Lord Seymour deserved every courtesy, even meaningless ones.

Lucil had begun to notice strings being pulled, and by whom, when word came that Yuna had refused Seymour's proposal, was officially a traitor, and should be slain on sight.

Lucil deserted on the spot. Elma, loyal shadow, insisted on following.

Elma remained unfazed by everything until they reached Kilika, where she learned Sin had killed her brothers. The bird-boned woman who had been her mother smiled vacantly and called her by dead boys' names.

She entered the jungle alone-- so she thought-- cutting through fiends with a ruthless efficiency that reminded Lucil of how the girl had first arrived at boot camp, better prepared than most cadets. Halfway up the temple steps, Elma suddenly halted. Prayers were useless, and tears had finally caught up with her. She sank to the flagstones and hid her face in her hands.

She leapt in a flustered salute when Lucil stepped out from the trees. "Ma'am! I'm sorry, I—"

Necessity had dictated a gap between them when they rode side by side; the habit still persisted. Lucil belatedly spanned that distance with an arm around Elma's shoulders. "—could not have saved them."

It was the wrong move. Elma stiffened with shame. "I might have saved _someone_!"

Gambling once more, the captain planted a kiss on her cheek that lingered too long to be mistaken for a condescending, "There, there."

The light in Elma's eyes rekindled. "Ma'am?" she said, the hushed tremor in her voice a plea for clarity.

Lucil obliged by cupping a surprisingly delicate chin and turning it gently towards herself. "Your best revenge is to live, Elma. It's something you do very well."

She did not _kiss_ very well, Lucil noted fondly. But like everything else, it took little nudging for Elma to tackle a new assignment with gusto.

It was a petty thought, but Lucil had always enjoyed teaching her a new skill.


	6. Waiting for My Captain

_A/N: 300-word ficbit written for ff_yuri_drabble. Prompt: "absence"  
It's mini-backstory to my AU "Love Her and Despair" fanfiction, where a Lucil/Elma storyline is one of many sub-plots. All you need to know is that in this alternate future, Yevon survived under new maesters._

* * *

Blitzball was a worse blasphemy than machina.

Maester Lucil would never say it. She understood that blitzball took people's minds off Sin. During the game, they did not mourn loved ones. They did not rue Lady Yuna's sacrifice. They did not remember the Crusaders fighting and dying to keep them safe.

She remembered, but she could not fight, not since the accident. Lucil had become a new Kinoc, waiting in safety while her troops rode into danger on her command. Elma said her leadership mattered more than her sword, but that galled, too.

A cheer went up from the stadium. She turned her back on it, gripping a cane instead of a weapon.

Her new headquarters overlooked the Highroad she had patrolled for years. From her balcony, she watched her knights come and go. One had just arrived. She waited for footsteps on the stair, a cleared throat. "General?"

Bracing against the balustrade to conceal infirmity, she turned.

"Ma'am." The cadet saluted. "We saved the caravan— no casualties. There's an ochu nest on the Oldroad. The captain's leading a squad against them tomorrow."

"Very good, Taro. Tell her..."

"Ma'am?"

"Good work," Lucil said, smoothing over her slip. Gloved fingers tightened. "Carry on."

He saluted and went below.

Ochu. Elma could handle them. She had a strong arm, a sure seat.

So had Lucil, once.

Elma was her sword. Lucil would not shield her by keeping her sheathed in Luca. If Lucil was unwilling to send her into danger, she should not risk soldiers, either. It was all that separated her from Kinoc.

That, and a blasphemy discreetly hidden in public. But at least it ensured she weighed each mission's cost. She could not prize anything above her troops' welfare, not even the sight of one red-clad rider returning home.


	7. Anniversary

_A/N: written for drabble prompt, "water"_

* * *

Water was not their element. Wind against cheeks, feet drumming the earth, static lifting their hair as they rode: these things they knew.

Along the route from Luca to Djose, the sea was always near, placid by Rin's agency, frigid and unquiet below the crags of Mushroom Ridge. Yet there were few places where the cliffs afforded a way down. Only here, along the most infamous beach in Spira, could one reach the water. Here, three years ago, Lucil had led the last charge of the Djose Chocobo Knights.

A light rain was falling when Lucil and Elma arrived on bedraggled chocobos. They left the birds in the shelter of Mi'ihen's Grotto and walked down to pay their respects. The sand was still stained with blood, ash and oil from the broken machina in the bay.

Lucil shed armor, boots and leggings, sword and gauntlets, and waded out to her thighs. The water was freezing. She bowed in prayer and began chanting. Elma, keeping watch, recited their former comrades' names with her.

Lucil's legs were numb and shaking when she returned.

Elma gathered her into a towel, holding her close under the pretext of warming her. "It never gets any easier, does it, ma'am?"

"Nor should it," Lucil said. She rested her forehead against Elma's and closed her eyes. "I see their faces, Elma, brave and resolute, just before the charge. And yours, pulling me from the water after. Strange to have found one precious thing in so much loss."

"Ma'am?"

"Need you ask?"

The kiss was as ardent as a knight saluting her captain before their last battle. Then Elma regirded Lucil for combat that seldom came. Side by side they returned to their rounds, and to a Spira already forgetting courage, loyalty and sacrifice, as well as sorrow.

* * *

_P.S. My fanart of Elma/Lucil: auronlu[dot]deviantart[dot]com/#/d2smtl6 - everybody say, "awwww"_


End file.
